


Blades Red as Blood

by JeanSchramme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: And Lots of It, Canon Compliant, Character Study, During Canon, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Imperial Inquisitors, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Jedi, Jedi purge, Military Science Fiction, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Slap Slap Kiss, Slow Burn, Snark, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSchramme/pseuds/JeanSchramme
Summary: When a Jedi Knight is reported in the prosperous capital of Mimban, a pair of Clone Wars veterans find themselves pulled from the front lines to help bring them to justice. But for Dhen Martz and TX-1191, serving under the command of the Second Sister and her fellow Inquisitors brings a new set of dangers very different from a mere combat zone.As Captain Martz prepares to settle old scores with the Jedi Knights, his relationship with his new master begins to move beyond the merely professional, while blades red as blood light up the night skies of Circarpous City.
Relationships: Trilla Suduri | Second Sister/Original Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Redeployment

_Mimban_

_15 years before the battle of Yavin_

Mud-spattered boots strode through the trenchline, just another pair among the many footsore infantry who had borne the brunt of the gruelling campaign on Mimban. But whereas most of the boots belonged to the weary mudtroopers, these were topped off by the long coat and service cap of an officer, though those too were weathered and battered by long campaigning in the trenches of the Disputed Wilderness Zone. Troopers stood aside at the sight of the man’s rank plaques, some offering salutes, some offering murmured greetings.

Captain Dhen Martz returned them all quietly, earnestly. Not two hours ago his men had repelled a massive attack on Camp Forward by the Mimbanese, and right now the exhausted officer wanted nothing more than to fall face-first onto his cot and sleep for a week. Unfortunately, the battalion commander had summoned him for reasons unknown, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was deal with Major Staz. 

It wasn’t that they were a _bad_ officer, per se, but Dhen had gotten his start as a young Lieutenant in the Grand Army of the Republic. Major Staz...hadn’t, and he was full of the ideological fervor that the Empire’s officer academies loved to inculcate their trainees with. It had been tolerable enough when he’d been merely the battalion executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Prendak had been a far more down to earth officer...but the Colonel had also seen fit to play EOD tech with his foot, and Staz had quickly assumed command.

Next to Dhen strode a man in grey armor and cape, a soulless helmet obscuring his features. TX-1191 was one of the last of the Fett-clones in Imperial service, part of the new Stormtroopers slowly replacing the Imperial Army grunts that made up most of the battalion, and his tolerance for nonsense from higher echelons was precisely as low as one would expect from a man bred solely for war.

“What do you reckon the Major wants, Sir? It’s not going to be a pat on the back for letting them in so close to our lines…”

“Agreed,” said Dhen. His accent, that of the glass-cutting hauteur of the Coruscant aristocracy, was far more refined than his First Sergeant’s guttural growl. “No, no I hardly expect this to be good news, First Sergeant. Likely we’re due in for a tongue-lashing, of some sort…”

Silence from the First Sergeant as he pondered that, but the veteran trooper offered no further insight as they made their way towards the command tent. When he’d first taken command, Dhen had asked the man what his nickname had been. TX-1191 had given him a glare that could have killed at three hundred meters, and said his number had been all that he needed.

Dhen had once or twice thought about trying to hang a new name on the man, but he had a sneaking suspicion the grizzled old soldier would either never acknowledge it, or reject it wholesale. Having lived amongst the clones when they’d been eagerly picking up distinguishing traits like names, tattoos, hairstyles and so on, Dhen wasn’t sure which option would be worse.

But halfway through the boot-churned muck of Camp Forward they were waved aside by a figure in black standing near the airfield. The man’s sober, gaunt features were easily recognizable at a distance: Commander Xodell, the battalion executive officer. 

The Commander accepted both men’s salutes with an apologetic expression. “Captain, First Sergeant. I apologize for not letting you get some well-deserved rest, but we’ve need of you. This way, please.”

Dhen and 91 exchanged glances and fell in behind Xodell. The XO had been operations officer once upon a time, but when Major Staz had been bumped up, Xodell had been tapped to take over as second in command. Despite the leap he still approached his new duties with the same quiet sobriety he had his old, a true technocrat in uniform.

“Will this be long, Sir?” asked Dhen. Despite his exalted position, Xodell had never quite lost touch with the realities of the front as other staff officers had. “The First Sergeant and I could do with some rest.”

Xodell gave him a grim smile. “No rest for the wicked, Captain. We’ll see to it you get an extra ration of stims. Here we are.”

They had arrived at Camp Forward’s buzzing airstrip, a hive of TIE fighters, AT-haulers, _Lambda_ and _Zeta_ shuttles and their attendant aircrews. The shuttle pilots, believing themselves to be above the concerns of the mundane mudfoot, rarely deigned to depart their craft, lingering only as long it took to offload cargo or soldiers. The hard-bitten AT-hauler crews and the battered TIE fighter pilots, however, were far more contrite with the infantry, and more than once Dhen had found an illicit flask of homebrewed liquor slipped his way by a sympathetic figure in black armor.

“Tell me we’re getting reinforcements, Sir,” groused 91.

“Not quite,” said Xodell. “But you will have a new mission and a reprieve from the trenches.”

Once again Dhen and his First Sergeant exchanged glances, but the clone had said his piece. Up ahead, Xodell continued walking, hands clasped behind his back, to where a _Lambda_ was raising its wings to land almost daintily among the muck and mire. There was no one else present.

Dhen frowned. “Where’s the Major?”

Xodell’s smile was grim. “Major Staz will be leading a counterattack on Mimbanese lines personally. But don’t worry, this shan’t take long.”

“What exactly is this, Sir?” Dhen couldn’t help the edge entering into his voice. This had his hackles up, and then some.

“Just get at attention, Captain,” said Xodell.

With a hiss of escaping steam from its hydraulics, the _Lambda_ ’s boarding ramp lowered, revealing a solitary figure stalking forth with a predator’s gait. It took Dhen and 91 all of two seconds to place the black armor and cape, the strong-jawed helmet, and the hilt hanging at the figure’s hip. 

Small wonder Xodell had wanted them to shut up and pay attention---the arrival of an Imperial Inquisitor was not an event to be taken lightly.

Xodell stepped forward and crisply raised his hand to the brim of his cap. “Inquisitor, welcome to Camp Forward. I’m Commander Xodell, battalion executive officer---”

The voice that emerged from the helmet was distorted, with an electronic reverberation. It had similar core worlds polish to Dhen’s own, with the hauteur of someone who knew the Imperial court well. It set his hackles on edge. “Oh? The Major couldn’t be bothered to greet me in person?”

It was a testament to his discipline that Xodell’s only reaction was to grow slightly paler. “...I’m afraid the Major is currently on the front lines, Second Sister. However, I have the personnel you have requested. Captain Martz and First Sergeant TX-1191 here have both been in service since the Clone Wars. You’ll find no better command team in the battalion.”

The black helmet swivelled to face on Dhen and 91. “Two old warhorses, hm?”

Dhen wasn’t even thirty, and beneath his armor 91’s accelerated aging could only be guessed at. Both remained silent, at attention.

Another distorted laugh escaped the Inquisitor’s helmet, and she airily waved a hand. “They’ll do, Commander. Dismissed. You, clone.”

91 stiffened even as Xodell took his leave. No one had made any mention of his genetic background. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“First Sergeant, wasn’t it? Go collect your kit. I would speak to your Captain alone.”

“Sir…” 91’s helmet had rotated just enough to make it clear he was looking to Martz for guidance.

The Captain blew out a breath through his nose. On the one hand, he wanted 91 here in case the Inquisitor had something critical to pass along. On the other...best keep the man out of the line of fire. “Go on, First Sergeant. Warning order to all platoon leaders, be ready to move within the hour.”

“Oh, that shan’t be necessary,” interrupted the Inquisitor. “I only have need of the two of you.”

“...I see. First Sergeant, go make sure we’ve everything we need for some time away from the front.”

The clone’s black goggles fixed on Dhen, gaze inscrutable as ever...and then 91 dipped his head and paced off, leaving Dhen alone with the Inquisitor.

The black-armored figure took a couple steps closer to Dhen, all intense purpose and strength in the Force. The Captain stiffened further from his not-quite attention, feeling as if he were being scrutinized on a level far deeper than any usual inspection.

Then the Second Sister reached out to take his chin in between her thumb and forefinger, tilting it down so he looked straight at her helmet’s visor.

Dhen’s eyes widened, and for an instant he considered letting it pass, but---no. One gloved hand shot up to grab the Inquisitor’s arm by the wrist and move it back from his face, with just enough force that she couldn’t ignore the gesture. Dhen kept his features impassive but resolute---she may have been a Jedi hunter, but _he_ was an officer of the Imperial Army. Not some akk dog of a man to be toyed with by a mystic.

At that unexpected act of defiance, a haughty laugh crackled forth from her helmet’s vocoder as the Inquisitor withdrew her hand. “Well now, _you’re_ made of sterner stuff than most officers I deal with. Usually _they_ just stew, squirm or whimper. You fought in the Clone Wars?”

“I did.” Dhen met her helmeted gaze unflinchingly. Up close the design of her armor reminded him more than a little of Darth Vader’s infamous mask...and given who the master of the Inquisitors was rumored to be, that was likely no coincidence.

“Through the end?” The Second Sister hummed, mock-contemplatively. “But you’re no clone...what did you do when Order 66 was issued?”

This again. It wasn’t the first time such jibes had been levelled at him, and Dhen Martz raised his chin in silent challenge. “My duty.”

When she spoke again, the Inquisitor’s voice held barely unrestrained glee. “Well then, Captain Martz, are you ready to do your duty again? There is a Jedi on this planet---and you and your soldiers will help me find them, and kill them.”

Dhen felt a nasty smile spreading over his features, a crack in the armor of his discipline. If only she knew...another opportunity to avenge the _Prosecutor_ , avenge his father? Oh yes. He was more than ready.

“I think, Inquisitor, this will be a privilege indeed.”

***

It was called Circarpous City, after the star system that was home to Mimban, and it was far, far away from the mud, blood and trench-scars of the Disputed Wilderness Zone. It was a coastal city of glittering spires, robotic and organic servants, beachside indulgences, and those who had grown wealthy off of the mines that had caused so many to die in the name of Empire, Republic, and above all _profit_.

Dhen was in the troop bay of a _Lambda_ -class shuttle, reading a datapad with the city’s vital statistics, and growing more and more bemused by the second. This city was Coruscanti high society plucked from the Core Worlds and plonked down here on the Rim, and as someone who had been born to the Coruscant military aristocracy he was all but dreading the airs and graces these gauche mining barons would be putting on.

The Second Sister sat across from him, motionless. She had told Dhen and 91 that they were going to pay a visit to the planetary governor to inform him of their mission before they redeployed to the capital’s barracks, and had fallen silent.

Dhen and 91 were still in their mud-spattered gear. It felt like a faux pas in the making to be calling on the planetary elite like this, but that was almost undoubtedly the point---to make sure the politicians, the civilian gentry, and the rear-echelon warriors in Circarpous City knew that the Inquisitor and her soldiers were there to do a job.

If TX-1191 had an issue with his upcoming role as set dressing, he had expressed no concern. But as Dhen continued to read about the mining gentry in the capital, the clone came to life and fixed his helmeted gaze on the Inquisitor. “Why us?”

There was a sensation, more felt than heard, as the Second Sister’s attention focused on 91. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not the last of the Fetts on active duty, Inquisitor,” said 91. “I know about the purge troopers---is that why you called for me and Captain Martz?”

“Ahhhh yes...the last generation from Kamino.” The Second Sister shrugged. “Sometimes it is simply more effective to leverage those who are experienced with your...unique brand of existence, First Sergeant. And we are currently training a new generation of purge troopers, as well.”

91 went very, very still. When he spoke, his words were those of a man trying to stay realistic about a hope he dared not indulge. “...I was under the impression the Kamino facilities were shut down permanently.”

The Second Sister leaned forward; her inscrutable mask obscured all, but a mocking smile was all but tangible in her voice. “Miss your brothers that much, do you, clone?”

91 was silent. 

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve bad news. The Kamino lines _are_ shut down, so we’re training natural-born enlistees as their replacements. Don’t worry, though. They’ll still wear the same armor---”

“Inquisitor.”

The Second Sister’s helmet turned to regard Dhen. “Yes, Captain?”

Dhen could feel his fingers gripping the armest of his seat hard enough to leave them white-knuckled, feel the color drain from his face. He bit off every syllable. “I would ask you to _not_ toy with my soldiers for your amusement. Rather bad for morale, you see. And rather bad for my temper.”

Another laugh crackled forth from the vocoder. “You _do_ have fire, Captain, you’re quite lucky I find you so amusing. Tell me, did you talk to the _Jedi_ like this?”

Next to Dhen, 91’s helmet slowly turned to regard the Captain.

Dhen’s jaw set, and he could feel his body tense as memories of the _Prosecutor_ ’s fate flashed through his mind. They had never recovered his father’s body. Nor had they told him what had befallen the Jedi Knight stationed aboard as well. But Jhofan Martz had promised his son the cadet that no matter what befell his assault ship, he would be OK---the Jedi Knights had his back.

Just another lie on the part of their treasonous Order.

When he opened his mouth again his words were far more enunciated than usual, clipped tones now more bitten off than anything. “Unlike others in the Republic’s service, I was bold enough to address the Jedi as the mere mortals they actually were.”

A faint, approving grunt emanated from 91’s helmet.

The Second Sister was quiet for a second more, then a word emerged from her helmet, more an exultant hiss than spoken utterance. _“Outstanding.”_

She said nothing else. And next to Dhen the stolid presence of TX-1191 had fallen silent once more.

That silence reigned until there was a hiss of hydraulics and a bump from outside the shuttle heralded their landing. The boarding ramp began to hiss open, and with a brief brush of dust off of her immaculate uniform’s shoulders, the Second Sister stood up. At the sight of Dhen and 91 moving to clean each other up, she raised an imperious hand.

“No, hold off on that.”

The sounds from beyond the shuttle bay sounded decidedly _genteel_. 91 and Dhen stopped, both turning to quizzically regard the Inquisitor.

The Second Sister’s smirk was almost audible. “It’ll make more of an impression if you truly are straight off of the front lines. Come along.”

Dhen gave his First Sergeant a shrug and fell in step with the Inquisitor; beneath his overcoat and armor he knew his uniform was in fairly decent condition. This was going to be decidedly uncomfortable for him. 91, having a bit more blue-collar approach to such matters, was probably just grateful he had his helmet on. It made it easier to mouth profanities at idiots.

And that was definitely going to be needed---waiting for them at the bottom of the boarding ramp was a landing pad that overlooked the glittering spires of Circarpous City...and beyond that, an ornate cocktail party in a penthouse with high-vaulted ceilings. Crystal flutes clinked against each other, civilian formalwear mixed with Imperial uniforms, and in the corner a band played the sort of unobtrusive smooth music that was shorthand for elegance and wealth at such affairs. 

The sole concession to the war ongoing not a two hour shuttle ride away were duos of guards manning each entrance to the penthouse, or patrolling the party. But even then they were the black uniforms of Imperial Navy Troopers, coal-scuttle helmets polished to a gleaming shine.

Dhen sighed. He and 91 were already getting confused looks. “Inquisitor, you could have _warned_ us that you were taking us into another combat zone.”

A laugh emanated from the Second Sister’s mask. “Oh no, don’t you worry. The ‘fumbling frontliner’ attitude will do wonders for our little visit. This way, the Governor is waiting for us.”

The planetary governor was a tall man, rapier-thin, with a pristine Imperial uniform, immaculately coiffed hair and a mouth made for condescending expressions. The latter was on full display as he saw the Second Sister sweeping over with the two soldiers in tow. “Ah, Inquisitor. I am glad you could make it, and with such...charming company. And you gentlemen are?”

“Captain Dhen Martz.” He bowed his head. “224th Armored. This is my First Sergeant, TX-1191.”

91 just remained at Dhen’s shoulder, a stolid monolith.

“Governor Jacquier, a pleasure. But come! This is a celebration of our Empire and those who serve it. Why don’t you take your helmets off, the both of you, and join us for drinks.” The Governor raised a gloved hand to snap at a passing server droid before returning his contemptuous smile to the trio. “I promise, you’ve nothing to fear here.”

A faint hiss of air heralded the reveal of 91’s face---the same bronzed, hardened features that the galaxy had come to know and alternatively revere or fear, depending on which side of the Clone Wars you had fallen on. His hair had gone stark grey at the temples, his left cheek was splashed with a burn scar, and his eyes were as cold and emotionless as the goggles of his helmet.

He didn’t accept a drink from the server droid. The Governor’s mock-pleasant expression froze, akin to a record skipping its beat, before flicking over to the Second Sister.

The Inquisitor was tucking her helmet under one arm. Her bronze-skinned features were sharp, with an aquiline nose, full lips, and eyes that blazed gold. Those eyes briefly tracked over to see Dhen’s reaction, and her lips twitched in a faint smirk before she reached out to pluck a champagne flute off the serving droid’s tray.

Dhen reached out to acquire his own drink, and with his free hand moved to loosen the scarf round his neck. Circarpous City’s climate was less punishing than the trenches. He was acutely aware of a heat on his cheeks that he did _not_ care for, and at the sight of that the Second Sister’s smirk flashed over her face once more. “Pity you wear that helmet all the time, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, come now, Captain,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “Surely even you know that one’s best assets ought to be held in reserve.”

“Ah, so you _do_ admit you led me and my poor First Sergeant into a combat zone here?” Dhen inclined his head, chin jutting out in challenge.

The Second Sister’s eyes seemed to blaze a little brighter at that. “I admit nothing of the sort, merely that I utilized the assets at hand, the best way I had available.”

“So we’re merely _assets_ , now, and not even ones that rank so high as your unmasked features? Tch, a pity.” Dhen took a sip of his wine. “If you keep this up you may hurt poor 91’s feelings.”

TX-1191 turned towards the Second Sister, but something on the clone’s face was oddly pensive as he regarded her. “Yes. All two of them.”

Governor Jacquier had the stricken smile of a master of ceremonies watching a carefully planned show fall apart in front of them. “Ah---yes, so, has the Second Sister informed you of why she is here on Mimban?”

“We were told there’s a Jedi about, Sir,” said Dhen, “and that my lot and I were to help deal with them.”

“Ah, I see. You know I _did_ tell the Inquisitor here that wouldn’t be necessary, we’ve plenty of forces in the capital as it is…” He nodded at a pair of navy troopers stalking past. 

“Hnh. I can see why she called us in if that’s all you’ve got. _Sir_.” 91’s expression was suitably unimpressed. 

The Second Sister snickered. “Alright, gentlemen, I dare say we’ve given Governor Jacquier enough of a shock. Governor, do be so good as to grant the requests I submitted upon arrival in-system, and my soldiers and I will be able to get to work.”

The Governor’s smile was pure ice, but of course he dared not oppose an Inquisitor. “I will see to it that it’s approved, and the garrison here is appraised of your arrival. Your element will have a free hand.”

“Excellent.” The Second Sister bowed her head, keeping the gesture just shy of outright mockery. “For any further coordination, please communicate via Captain Martz.”

Jacquier’s brittle smile turned to Dhen, who gave an impeccable how as if he was an Academy cadet at a formal. “Here you are, Sir. This datacard has all my contact information.”

“I...see. Well now. Since business is concluded, perhaps we could enjoy the festivities? Captain, First Sergeant, I’m sure some of my guests would love to hear your tales from the front lines.”

“I think not, Governor,” said the Second Sister, taking a step backwards. “We have work to do so that you and your peers may enjoy such parties as these. Gentlemen, come along. We’ve work to do.”

And without further ado, the Inquisitor pivoted on one polished bootheel and moved to sweep for the landing pad, cape billowing behind her.

Dhen indulged himself just enough to give the Governor a smile that was outright mocking, and touched his fingers to the brim of his cap in what was not quite a salute. Behind him, TX-1191 was retreating back into the world of safety that was his helmet, donning it even as he was pivoting about to storm off to the landing pad.

The Captain took a brief second to down the rest of his champagne flute, dropped it on the tray of a nearby serving droid, and promptly fell in step behind the Inquisitor. None of the trio paid any heed to the scandalized looks of the gentry---and the quiet jealousy of the military. Not all of the Governor’s guests had been desk jockeys and swivel chair hussars for all their careers, and the intrusive reminder of the fighting officers they had once been was decidedly embarrassing.

But that was of no concern to the three making their exit.

“So,” said Dhen as they ascended the _Lambda_ ’s boarding ramp. “Now that we’ve thoroughly offended the civilian governance, scandalized the local gentry, embarrassed the high command, and drank their champagne without so much as a by-your-leave...what next?”

The Second Sister was already settling into her chair. “Like I told the Governor, Captain Martz, it’s time we got to work. I do believe it’s time you gentlemen met your new command.”


	2. Last Gasp of the GAR

_Circarpous City, Mimban_

_15 Years before the Battle of Yavin_

The building that had been tapped to take over as headquarters for the Second Sister’s Jedi hunt had once been a small listening post for the local Imperial Intelligence element on Mimban. It had been this group’s analysts who had first tapped the possibility of the Jedi’s presence, and for that they had been rewarded by finding their heretofore quiet home suddenly overrun by black-armored purge troopers, their operations co-opted by the new arrivals.

Dhen Martz, striding through the beehive of activity, couldn’t help but be taken aback by the troopers. For a government who tried so hard to erase all traces of the Republic that it had once had been, the purge troopers were an uncomfortable throwback--they wore the armor of the clone army’s airborne troopers, cast in black with red lenses glaring from the helmet. Only the Imperial crest on their shoulder was a ready differentiation from what they could have once been.

And to hear so many of the clones’ voices once more…

He shook his head sharply. The past was the past, and he was about to help his father rest that much easier in his grave. This was no time for sentiment.

Dhen slotted in his code cylinder to the door control for the briefing room and paced in.

The Second Sister was waiting for him. Even though he had seen her sans helmet, she still had continued to wear it as often as possible within their headquarters. It likely wasn’t a show of solidarity with the purge troopers---who were far less keen on escaping their armors’ confines than their genetic predecessors had been---the Inquisitor was far too detached for that. A psychological show of force, perhaps? 

It didn’t much matter either way.

The other figure in the room was in the black armor of the purge troopers, with the red pauldron denoting a senior member of their ranks. Years of serving with the stormtroopers and clones gave one an appreciation for the differences in body language and bearing, and it wasn’t hard for Dhen to recognize the familiar stolid stance of TX-1911.

“Well, First Sergeant, I see you’re taking quite well to your new billet. How does it feel to be back in Phase Two kit?” Dhen gave the clone a fraternal smile before looking to the Second Sister. “And hello to you as well, Inquisitor.”

“You’re out of uniform, Captain,” said the Second Sister, by way of greeting. “That won’t do.”

Dhen glanced down; he was wearing the standard grey officer’s tunic, minus the frontline accessories he sometimes donned. “Am I?”

“Mmmm, quite.” The Inquisitor’s tone had the amusement of a cat toying with a captive mouse. “Have you seen anyone else wearing grey, in here?”

It took Dhen all of two seconds to piece it together. “I’m afraid I don’t have a black tunic available. And as I recall, that’s reserved for stormtrooper officers.”

“Indeed. Congratulations on your transfer to the Stormtrooper Corps, Captain Martz.”

Dhen glanced over to 91, brow arched. “Well, First Sergeant, it seems we both have a new branch of the service.”

“I’m back with my brothers, Sir,” said the other, voice still flat as ever despite his words. “If that means a mandatory transfer, I’ll take it.”

“Very good.” Dhen looked back over to the Second Sister and inclined his chin. “Well, Inquisitor, if you can suffer my unexpected lapse in uniform regulations, I am ready when you are.”

“I think I can overlook it, but only because you did such an excellent job tailoring that tunic.” The Second Sister stepped over to the holoprojector in the middle of the briefing room, keying it to life. A trio of holographic figures appeared: a Devaronian, a Phindian, and an Abednedo. All of them were wearing immaculate businesswear, and the Devaronian even had his horns gilded.

“HVTs,” said 91. It wasn’t a question.

“Correct,” said the Inquisitor. “These three sentients are C-suite executives in the main mining concern here on Mimban, Circarpon Mining and Extraction, and have been for some time...even back in the days of the Old Republic.”

“Ah.” Dhen stepped closer, tapping at his chin with one gloved hand as he surveyed the figures. The Devaronian had a far more sober bent to his bearing and expression than his gilded horns would suggest, and the Abednedo was as mournful-looking as any others of their kind. The Phindian simply looked like a Phindian---Dhen had never run across any of the long-limbed reptoids before. “So, you believe one of them has latent sympathies?”

“Or more. There are some who remember the Republic more fondly than they would care to let on.” The Inquisitor’s helmet briefly tilted to regard TX-1191.

The clone just stared her down, not even twitched a muscle. “Desertion rates post-Order Sixty-Six were far lower than some might want you to believe. Commander.”

The Second Sister froze, and even Dhen could feel the danger beginning to build within the caped figure before him. She rounded on 91, still the picture of icey detachment. “I beg your pardon?”

TX-1191 stood firm. “So I _was_ right. The Empire had to recruit you Inquisitors from somewhere. Were you a Knight, or someone’s Padawan who---”

“Enough.” With a flick of her hand, the Second Sister lashed out with the Force, sending the veteran soldier crashing into the briefing room wall. But 91 didn’t fall---instead the clone’s breathing suddenly became a series of gasps and coughs as he struggled for air, and his hands clutched at his throat. The Inquisitor’s other hand reached up, and the soulless red-lensed helmet was torn off of 91’s head and sent clattering to the floor.

For once, there was emotion on TX-1191’s weatherbeaten features.

It was fear.

“That will do, First Sergeant.” The Second Sister stepped closer, words still calm despite the fury radiating off of her. “Leave the past in the past. That is an order...and after all, _good soldiers follow orders_ , don’t they?”

Dhen watched, face white, but as 91’s struggled breathing grew weaker and weaker he could watch no more. Whatever the devil the Inquisitor meant by that, it could wait until later. And right now discretion was far from the better part of valor. Abandoning all thought of decorum and self-preservation, he stepped forward to grab her shoulder. “Enough of this! He was mistaken, now release him!”

The Second Sister whirled on Dhen, red visor glaring. Behind her 91 went crashing to the floor in a gasping heap as she released her telekinetic stranglehold on him, and her hand darted out to grab Dhen by the chest and draw him in close. For a second his perception narrowed until his world was just that red visor glaring at him. Death itself stared him down.

Then suddenly the grip was released, and the Second Sister reached up to brush an invisible speck of dust off the shoulder of Dhen’s tunic. “So noble, Captain. Far beyond what most officers would do for their ‘boys.’ I will be in my chambers. Let me know when you have an actionable plan for the mission.”

Dhen, breathing heavily through his nose as the adrenaline faded, gave a choppy nod. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

“Excellent.” The Second Sister pivoted about to move for the door---and then paused as the entry hissed open. “Oh, and do see the quartermaster when you can. I meant what I said about your uniform.”

As soon as the door hissed shut behind her, Dhen immediately hurried over to take a knee next to 91. The old clone was gasping for breath, face flushed, eyes wide. When Dhen took his hand, he didn’t bat it away, instead he squeezed it tight. 91 just sat there, shivering as the adrenaline slowly cooled down, whispering something. His eyes were defocused, looking at something that wasn’t quite there, just over Dhen’s shoulder.

“First Sergeant?”

“Sorry...Sir...sorry…” TX-1191 shook his head once, sharply. “I...forgot.”

Dhen frowned. “Nine-One, what are you talking about?”

“Good soldiers...follow orders...good soldiers…” Suddenly, 91’s gaze abruptly refocused back on Dhen. The trepidation vanished from his features, his breathing steadied...and then the clone reached out next to him to tug back on his helmet, once more becoming the faceless soldier of the Empire. Slowly, 91 got to his feet. “Sir. I’ll speak to the platoon leaders. We’ll have a preliminary plan drawn up within six hours.”

“First Sergeant…” Dhen could feel the stricken look on his face, but right now he didn’t much care. He’d heard the rumors of what had been done to the clones, during the war. Why had they done what they had done. Order Sixty-Six had been personal for him, but for them…

TX-1191’s helmet turned, red-tinted lenses all but glaring at his Captain. “I’m fine, Sir. If you’ll excuse me.”

Without further ado, the First Sergeant strode out of the briefing room, leaving Dhen alone with the holograms and his thoughts.

***

The _Lambda_ shuttle made its arrival unannounced and unasked for, and the dockworkers of Circarpon Mining and Extraction all but gawped at the sudden intrusion of naked Imperial might onto their headquarters’ landing pad. The vessel pirouetted about to raise its wings, and settled down among several luxury airspeeders---an unmistakable statement that whoever was aboard was not to be taken lightly.

Then the shuttle’s boarding ramp opened with a hiss, and a horde of figures in black were disgorged---some in armor, two in odd uniform of some sort. The armored figures formed up into two columns with one of their own at their head. The remainder in uniform assembled at the front.

The older dockworkers, those who had been around long enough to remember when CME had been its own entity rather than a nationalized arm of the Empire, promptly swiped their timecards and vanished into the skyscraper. The younger ones, or those whose curiosity far outweighed their prudence, pretended to go about their duties...but they were watching, nonetheless.

Captain Dhen Martz, standing at the head of the formation with his hands clasped behind his back, surveyed the landing pad with a decidedly jaundiced eye. “Pity they didn’t all do a runner. Alright, First Sergeant?”

TX-1191 was showing no trace of his previous encounter in his voice or bearing. “Sir.”

“Police up the workers, detail a fireteam to keep an eye on them.” Dhen reached up to idly brush a speck of lint off the shoulder of his tunic---that was the downside to the new black uniform, things like that stood out. A lot. “No need for rough treatment, but make sure they understand they are _not_ to move until we are finished here.”

“Very good, Sir. You four! Get in there.”

Four purge troopers detached themselves from the column and trotted forward, barking for the workers to halt and raise their hands. Most complied, but two were braver (or, again, stupider) than their colleagues and decided to make a dash for it. A pair of DC-15 rifles barked, and the remainder of the group was soon on the ground.

Dhen and the Second Sister were soon striding over to survey the prisoners. The Inquisitor’s red-shrouded gaze shifted across the group. “Who here is your dockmaster?”

A scarred woman got to her feet, dark eyes glaring down the Inquisitor. “You killed my people.”

“They were attempting to flee a cordon-and-search operation, that’s hardly a good look.” The Second Sister stepped forward, calmly entering the other’s personal space. “Your accent...you are from Coruscant, are you not? The lower levels?”

“Aye,” said the other.

“And let me guess---CME was your way out of those warrens, and you owe the company a debt you do not believe you can repay?”

Dhen frowned, looking from one woman to another. But he held his tongue.

The dockmaster was silent.

The Second Sister’s trademark audible smirk was once more on display. “But of course...I am afraid the company has betrayed your loyalty, though, by aiding and abetting terrorists in your midst. We need your assistance. Will you provide it?”

“...what do you want.” The dockmaster’s tone was sullen, and she turned her face away from the other workers as if to shield herself from their mutterings.

Dhen glanced back to the stolid presence of TX-1191, but if the First Sergeant had any issues with the psychological power play, he wasn’t showing them. 

“There, see how easy it is when you cooperate? Your access card.” The Second Sister held out a hand and accepted the document. “Thank you kindly. Captain, detail a few men to keep an eye on them until we have completed our mission.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Dhen turned to face 91, and discovered the First Sergeant already jabbing a commanding finger at four of his people to post up. The purge troopers trotted forward, and he looked back to the Second Sister. “With respect, Inquisitor, I think we can leave more of our fellows out here. This ought not to be too difficult a snatch.”

The Second Sister was moving to the door. “On the contrary, Captain, we can hardly do a show of force without any force to show.”

The Captain couldn’t help but sigh at the accurate tautology as the door hissed open. “Very well. Come along, First Sergeant.”

Armor clanking in unison, the purge trooper formation strode into the building, Dhen and the Second Sister still at her head. The Inquisitor still had that same predatory strut she’d shown when first making her presence known to her new subordinates, a walk that bespoke confidence, power, and danger. But after what he’d seen earlier, Dhen wasn’t sure just who that danger would be directed at.

Apparently the office drones had better sense than the dockworkers. Nobody stayed to watch this time. There was no trace of corporate security (granted, they would have had to be suicidal to make a stand), and the only motion that the group saw were workers taking shelter beneath their desks or in adjacent rooms.

Dhen kept his hands behind his back. It kept them from drumming on his holster; the workers had done nothing, there was no need for anything to happen to them…but the Second Sister had yet to show anything resembling compunctions about collateral damage.

They halted at the end of the grand hall, before an ornate set of doors. The Second Sister’s helmet tilted to regard the keypad for the briefest of instances before she drew her blade with a flourish. The Inquisitor traced a square, extended a hand, and sent the metal flying inward with a crash and the sound of shattering glass from beyond.

To their credit, the Devaronian was waiting for them on the other side rather than cowering in fear. The man was wearing an excellently tailored suit, gilded horns gleaming in the light streaming in through the remains of the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window behind him. His expression was defiant, but Dhen fancied there was the briefest flicker of fear at the sight of the blood-red blade clutched in the Second Sister’s hand.

“You know,” said the Devaronian, “even the Governor is usually kind enough to make appointments.”

“You are Mallen’rom’Dofar,” said the Second Sister, by way of reply. “Chief Operations Officer of Circarpon Mining and Extraction.”

“I am.” The other’s baritone voice was still steady. “And you are?”

“Someone who _very_ much needs to have a chat with you.” The Second Sister stalked forward and bought her blade closer to the man’s neck. “Now, you can walk out of here under your own power, or you can be carried out and never walk again. The choice is yours.”

Dhen looked back to TX-1191’s phalanx and nodded; as one, the purge troopers snapped up their blasters, coaxing as much intimidating metallic noises out of charging handles and safeties as they could. It was all vulgar theater, of course, but to a mining company executive it would likely provide a very emphatic period to the Inquisitor’s statement.

Judging by the utter departure of any defiance in Dofar’s eyes, it had clearly done the job. The Devaronian swallowed, nodded once, and stood up with his hands raised. “You make a compelling point.”

“My Captain is nothing if not persuasive,” said the Second Sister, helmet swivelling to regard Dhen for a moment. Was he imagining an emphatic twist on that possessive word? Likely. “Captain Martz, make sure he gets to the landing pad, we’ve business here to conclude yet.”

“Very good, Inquisitor.” Dhen nodded at one of the purge troopers. “You, take three men and get him to the shuttle.”

“Wait.” The Devaronian reached down to unbuckle his belt and placed it, and a holstered sidearm, on the desk. A quick dig through his pockets also produced a multitool, a second holdout blaster, and a monomolecular stiletto up his sleeve. He gave Dhen a faint smile. “Corporate warfare can be a bit too literal, these days.”

“Pity they didn’t issue you a brain to go with it, old boy,” said Dhen, not interested in the least in bantering with the man. The briefest of cracks showed in the Devaronian’s smooth demeanor showed at that, smile briefly flickering as the purge troopers took him in hand. No matter. A chat with an IT-O would sort him out. 

There was still business to be taken care of, all the same. “First Sergeant?”

91’s red-lensed gaze fixed on his Captain. “Sir?”

“Split your lads into two squads, get moving to the other executives’ offices. Good chance by now they know we’re here, so we’ll have to move fast.”

“Right away.” 91 and the other troopers turned as one and trotted off deeper into the building.

Dhen reached up to brust dust off his shoulder again, and stiffened as he felt the Second Sister draw up alongside him. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Oh, nothing pressing, Captain.” She was moving to brush past him, and her gloved fingers trailed gently over his uniform’s shoulder as she moved past. “Merely pleased at what a useful attack dog you’re turning out to be. Come along, I believe we’ve two more friends we really ought not keep waiting.”

***

The next day the command trio were sitting in the Second Sister’s office, sipping on Abrax cognac, and reviewing the datapads containing the results of the interrogations. Rather, two of them were drinking---TX-1191 had forgone both chair and carafe alike, insteading choosing to stand stolidly over Dhen’s shoulder, helmet under one arm, as he reviewed his datapad.

“Didn’t even have to bring in the IT-O for them,” murmured the clone.

“Quite,” said Dhen. “Not a bad haul of information either. The Devaronian’s dead drops within the city center should be quite interesting to observe. We may need to pull in our local Intelligence fellows for the stake out, though. No disrespect, old boy, but you and your brothers are rather _distinctive_.”

That earned a rare smile from 91, and the veteran emitted a rasping sound that from any other being would’ve been a chuckle. “We’ll take that as a compliment, Sir.”

The Second Sister had her cognac on the table, regarding it with a contemplative air as the two veterans banter. Her helmet was off, and her gloves had been shucked too, one hand trailing a finger around the rim of her glass. Dhen couldn’t help but notice her nails were recently manicured.

Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what it would like to feel them ghost over his uniform rather than her gloves. Or dig into his skin. And then promptly wondered just _why_ he was thinking that. That attack dog comment had stewed with him ever since the raid’s completion, churning in his gut like an expired field ration. He had thought nothing of it in the moment, nor even the moments after, but he could still hear her words---and damn her for it!

“Credit for your thoughts, Captain?”

Dhen snapped back into the here and now to discover the Inquisitor’s golden gaze locked with his own far more subdued brown eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at her features. “Pardon, Inquisitor?”

“You’re staring at me like a primary school child seeing his crush,” said the Second Sister, words dripping with amusement as she leaned in. “Either ask me to the dance or tell me how you intend to proceed with catching our foe.”

“Well, I mean we _could_ always see when Governor Jacquier is having his next soiree…” Dhen leaned in, in turn. Damned if he was going to let the Inquisitor win this one. “I’ve needed an excuse to break out my full-dress uniform.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking you were fancied up enough as it is. Black suits you, Captain.” The Second Sister snapped her fingers, and invisible hands plucked a code cylinder from Dhen’s tunic, pulling it over into her waiting grasp. “What next? Medals? Aurodium plating for one of these?”

Behind Dhen, the door hissed open. He paid it no mind, probably TX-1191 leaving before he had to endure any more banter. “Perhaps it’s all that and more, and you’ll be utterly outclassed in your everyday...service dress, I suppose you could call that?”

Before the Second Sister could reply, Dhen felt something land on his shoulder. He reached up a hand to brush it off---and almost dropped his cognac as a droid chittered its disapproval. Whirling round he saw what looked almost like a miniaturized Arakyd probe droid perched on his shoulder---and above that, a dagger-like Mirialan woman in very similar armor to the Second Sister looming where 91 had been standing. 

Dhen swallowed, and looked over to the Second Sister. The other immediately proceeded to pound the remainder of her cognac and get to her feet, expression rapidly shifting from gleeful amusement to something far more sour.

“Hello, Seventh Sister.”

The Seventh Sister’s eyes were the same gold as the Second’s, but with black sclerae. It was a decidedly off-setting combination. A helmet of similar design to the Second’s was secured onto her belt, swaying as she moved closer, and the probe droid floated off of Dhen’s shoulder to settle down on hers. “Second Sister, you look so _happy_ to see me. Care to introduce me to your new friend?”

The Second Sister was ostentatiously tugging on her gloves, glaring at the new arrival. “This is Captain Martz, commander of my purge troopers, recently off the front lines here at Mimban. He is _not_ my friend.”

“What a pity. It always helps to make _friends_ with your killers, don’t you think, Captain?” The new Inquisitor’s voice had an eerie reverberation to it, and with a swaying gait she stepped forward to run taloned gauntlets down his cheek in a caress that caused Dhen to recoil. She just laughed. “Oh, he’s got spirit to him too. No clone at all. _Very_ impressive cheekbones too.”

Dhen got to his feet, not even bothering to hide his fuming. “Inquisitor, I must protest, I am an officer of the stormtrooper corps, not---”

The Mirialan’s voice took on a lilting tone, as if reassuring a recalcitrant pet. Her hand came up to gently pet his cheek. “Oh, I _know_ , don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve proven quite useful. My Sister doesn’t keep around dead weight. Or those who don’t interest her.”

“If you’re quite finished tormenting _my_ poor Captain?” The Second Sister had once more donned her helmet, and stepped round her desk to move next to Dhen. She placed a hand on his shoulder, gently gripped it as she felt him vibrating from barely suppressed fury. “Why are you here, Sister.”

“Lord Vader caught wind of the Jedi’s presence here,” said the other, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. “And figured you could use some assistance.”

The mention of the Dark Lord was enough to calm Dhen enough for some color to return to his face. Recovering his usual upright bearing rather than the defensive not-quite crouch he’d dropped into, he shrugged off the Second Sister’s hand to stare down the other Inquisitor. “Will Lord Vader be coming here personally?”

The Mirialan waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, no, not at all. Myself and the Fifth Brother will simply be here to lend your new master some...support.”

“That won’t be necessary,” growled Dhen, “my First Sergeant and I have been assisting her quite ably thus far.”

Too late, he realized what part of that statement he _hadn’t_ objected to. Judging by her smirk, the Seventh Sister clearly had as well. “I’m sure you have. But it’s always preferable to have more people go blade-to-blade with a Jedi, rather than blasters. But don’t worry---we also think they have their own insurgent cell with them. We’ll have plenty of use for you.”

The Second Sister, meanwhile, gave Dhen’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Captain, go check on our troopers and make sure they’re refitting alright after our raids. I will...deconflict strategy with my sister, here.”

Dhen swallowed before dipping his head in a choppy bow. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

She didn’t respond---not aloud. But he could’ve sworn he heard her words inside his head all the same. _Well done today, my dear Captain. We’ll finish that cognac another time._

He turned to the Second Sister, but her helmet didn’t so much as twitch to acknowledge him. Without further ado, Dhen took his leave.

TX-1191 was waiting for him outside, face dark with suppressed emotion as he fell in with his Captain.

“This is getting out of hand, Sir. Now we’ve got to deal with two of them.”

Dhen sighed, and looked down to rub his arm where the Second Sister had touched it. It didn’t quite burn, not quite, but not having her presence on his flank felt...emptier, somehow.

He’d think about it more in the morning. And about that voice in his head, too.

“Three, apparently. But no sense worrying about what we can’t control, old boy.” Dhen sighed. “Check on the men, make sure they’re recovering OK. Then lay onto the Intelligence fellows and see if any fancy the idea of going on a mission in mufti. I’ll have a tentative plan drafted by tomorrow.”

“Sir.” TX-1191 frowned. “...Sir, if I may?”

“Yes, First Sergeant?”

“Make sure you get some rest too, eh?”

Dhen smirked at the clone. “Only if you do the same, Nine-One.”

TX-1191’s face contorted in what could’ve been a smile or a grimace. It was hard to tell. “I’ll try, Sir.”

“Good man. Carry on.” Dhen split off down the hall leading towards his quarters, still rubbing that spot on his tunic where he could still almost feel the Second Sister’s touch.


	3. Contact

_ Circarpous City, Mimban _

_ 15 years before the Battle of Yavin _

“You know,” said Dhen, “you really ought to tell me your name at some point.”

Opposite him, the Second Sister arched an immaculate brow and idly stirred her cocktail with the little umbrella perched within. “And why, my dear Captain, would I do that?”

Dhen sighed. It was the two of them drinking outside the upscale bar, the type of venue that attracted well-to-do young professionals, the sort with more money and good looks than sense, and little more to do than flaunt both by going out and spending time with each other. Dhen’s black tunic wasn’t the only Imperial uniform in or around the place---the bar was a known haven for the infantry officers rotated off the front---but the Second Sister’s custom uniform and cape cut a distinctive figure.

So too were the other not-quite revellers seated behind them: the identical bronze-skinned features of TX-1191, and one of his squad leaders, both in civilian attire. Dhen had been surprised to see the other clone’s appearance---the purge troopers were, to a man, shaved bald, with a red tattoo jagging its way down their temple and cheek. It was an unusual sort of uniformity. 91’s greying age, in turn, lent him an almost distinguished air in comparison.

91 hadn’t told Dhen the trooper’s name, but the Captain recognized armored body language enough that he could match the mannerisms to a voice he’d heard on the comms and during raids. This man’s number was TX-514---but his brothers called him Dekk.

The dead drop that the CME execs had spilled the beans on was across the street, but none of the four were particularly subtle. Fortunately, that was the point. Their job was, as 91 had sardonically put it, was to carry out ‘overt operations’ and provide a distraction from the  _ real  _ stakeout team from Intelligence, hiding somewhere else in the area.

As missions went, it was pretty nice, particularly in comparison to the trenches. Matching witty repartée with the Second Sister was far more preferable a duel.

Dhen took another sip of his drink, a glass of Alderaanian white wine. No Abrax cognac for him, not on a Captain’s salary.“Because, Inquisitor, there are now  _ two  _ of you, both with ordinal designations of one sort or another, which makes it decidedly tricky to keep you two straight in my head.”

The Second Sister smirked. “Perhaps you ought to talk with your First Sergeant, I’m sure a man with a number for a name could teach you a bit about counting, and distinguishing numbers for names.”

From the table behind Dhen, muffled snickering could be heard in a decidedly clone-sounding voice.

“As may be,” he said, sipping his wine. “Now, if her number is higher than yours, does that make her superior to you?”

Gold eyes flashed, but the Inquisitor soon regained control of herself, and a dangerous smile tugged at her lips. “Hm. Alright, Captain, a proposal.”

Dhen sipped his wine, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. “Moving a little fast, Inquisitor, don’t you think? We’ve only had two drinks together.”

“Hi _ lar _ ious,” drawled the Second Sister. Her smile, however, remained. “I offer you an exchange. I’ll tell you my name, if  _ you _ tell me just why you despise the Jedi so.”

“Oh, now, shouldn’t that go without saying? They’re traitors, they attempted to overthrow---”

“Yes, yes, yes.” The Inquisitor waved her cocktail umbrella dismissively. “But those are political reasons. With you, it’s  _ personal _ .”

Dhen covered with a sip of his wine, trying to keep his expression carefully neutral. The fate of the  _ Acclamator- _ class assault ship  _ Prosecutor  _ was hardly classified information, nor was the story of the discovery of her fate. But something in him knew that the moment he told the Second Sister that, it would be like striking a supernatural bargain of sorts, giving her power over him.

What sort of power, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want her to have it.

“You could call it a...family affair,” he finally said.

“And you could call my name mere syllables strung together.” The Inquisitor looked decidedly unimpressed. “Come now.”

“You will understand why such matters might be a little personal---”

He shut up as the Second Sister’s hand snaked out to take his chin in between thumb and forefinger, one digit tracing little circles on her skin. The Inquisitor’s voice had lowered in timbre, that dangerous smirk widening. “My dear Captain, are you telling me you’re afraid of getting  _ personal _ with me?”

Dhen’s eyes had widened, he could feel a surprised exhalation hiss forth, his cheeks flush hot. But he would be damned if he ceded the initiative to her so readily. “Do you mean to tell me you want to get personal with  _ me _ ?”

The Second Sister’s features broke into a full on grin as she tipped his chin up further. “Oh, I dare say I---”

They were interrupted, quite rudely, but the hiss of a lightsaber igniting.

Dhen shot to his feet, yanking the blaster pistol out of his holster, aware dimly of the clatter of dishes and cutlery as the two clones behind him did likewise.

Standing atop an awning on the other side of the street was a well-built Twi’lek, expression grim, with a blue lightsaber blazing in his right hand. He ignored the shrieks of panicked and fleeing citizenry, focusing instead on the hunting party that had just had its meal so rudely interrupted.

The Second Sister stood with far less alacrity, though she too produced her blade with a flourish. “Well, well. Kind of you to join us, Master Jedi, we would have expected you to send one of your pawns instead.”

“A Knight of the Jedi Order never stands alone, murderer,” answered the man in a sonorous voice. From within the building four beings came trotting out, clutching light repeating blasters in their hands. “Nor does he forget who he serves.”

Dhen stepped forward, expression twisting into one of genteel fury. “Ought to have reminded some of your peers of that, old boy. But you’ll be joining them soon enough. First Sergeant!”

TX-1191 and Dekk didn’t hesitate, opening fire. The Jedi leaped off the awning and out of the way of their blaster fire, coming to fall at the feet of the Second Sister. He was already slashing at her with his bright blue blade---and she was laughing gleefully as she deflected the blows like a fencing instructor with a novice student.

No time to admire that now, however---the Jedi’s thugs were opening fire, sweeping the restaurant with automatic blasterfire. Dhen and the clones dove into cover, scrambling behind concrete partitions and over the bodies of revellers who hadn’t cleared the area quickly enough.

“So much for Jedi mercy, eh boss?” Dekk was grinning.

“Stow it,” snapped 91, moving to swap tibanna gas cartridges. “Sir, orders?”

Dhen peeked out from behind cover. The Second Sister was continuing to counter the Jedi’s blows and dodge them like flowing water, but she had yet to make any offensive moves of her own---trying to tire him out.

“Alright gentlemen, civvies have cleared the area but we need prisoners in case we can’t kill the bastard.” He flicked the selector switch on his sidearm. “Set for stun, bring those shooters down.”

“Sir.” 91 and Dekk did as bade, and then the air was filling with blue blasterfire to match the red. Immediately one of the shooters dropped, but their peers scattered for cover.

“Excellent work, set back to kill.” Dhen looked over to where the two Force-users were duelling, an idea brewing in the back of his head. “...First Sergeant, keep up the fire, I’ll go help the Inquisitor.”

“Looks like she’s doing alright for herself, Sir,” said the other, triggering disciplined bursts from his sidearm at any shooter brave enough to pop their head out from behind cover.

“Indeed, so let’s make the odds better, shall we?”

On any other man, the stonefaced look TX-1191 gave Dhen would have been exasperation. On the clone it was just his default expression. “Alright, Sir.”

Dhen shoved his blaster in its holster and began low-crawling. As they drew closer he could hear the two Force-users---the grand tradition of banter during lightsaber duels was alive and well.

“You’ve had  _ practice _ ,” came the thrilled contralto of the Second Sister. “Not at all like some of the whelps I’ve had to kill before. Who was your Master?”

“I  _ was  _ a Master,” came the reply, accompanied with a low sweep of the saber.

“Ah, even better.” The Inquisitor’s eyes were as bright as her red blade; she didn’t even bother deflecting his attempt, opting instead to dodge backwards. “That makes the odds better, I’ve killed  _ far  _ more Padawans, alone and on the run. Poor scared little things, really…”

A low growl rumbled from the Jedi’s throat. “You seek to break me. To anger me. To  _ turn  _ me.”

The Second Sister laughed disdainfully. “Hardly. A mere distraction is all I need. Dearest?”

Dhen didn’t do so much as hesitate. Still prone, he cocked his wrist, and the throwing knife up his sleeve dropped into his hand. A quick second to gauge distance, and the blade was sent flying at the Jedi.

The Twi’lek ducked the hurled knife, spitting out something in his native tongue, and bought his blade round---only to be forced to deflect a salvo of incoming blasterfire. 

The Jedi’s minions were down or dead, and the last of the Grand Army of the Republic had joined the fray.

“Clones!” spat the Jedi, leaping free to an awning. “Traitors--- _ cowards _ , hiding behind talk of chips and orders, all while---”

He was interrupted by a shot to the leg from TX-1191. Dekk followed up with another blast to the Jedi’s shoulder. The man collapsed to his knees and fell, landing in a heap on the duracrete pavement.

Bootheels clicked on the pavement as the Second Sister approached, gait swaying and grin wide. “Well  _ done _ , you three.”

Dhen, blaster held on the Jedi, just nodded stiffly. He didn’t know the man, but he had never learned the details of the one aboard  _ Prosecutor _ either. “Well, Inquisitor, I dare say we’ve ended our mission ahead of schedule.”

“I beg to differ, I’m afraid.” With a thrumming twirl of her blade, the Second Sister moved her saber to the Jedi’s neck. “You’re far from alone, aren’t you? And I don’t mean your mooks.  _ How many of you are there?” _

The Jedi managed to prop himself up on one arm. “Enough to bring down an Empire. Enough to light a---”

“Inquisitor.” It was TX-1191, sounding uncharacteristically peeved.

The Second Sister turned to regard him, one immaculate brow arched. “Yes, First Sergeant? We’re having a conversation here.”

“He’s not going to talk, at least nothing beyond this nonsense, and we don’t have the facilities to hold a Jedi.” Muscles bunched in the clone’s jaw, as if he was gritting his teeth. “Recommend we sort him.”

“Feeling something in the back of your mind, hm?” The Second Sister laughed. “One moment, then you can satisfy your...compulsions. Now, Master Jedi, as I was asking before we were so rudely interrupted---how many of you are there?”

“You’ve gotten all you will out of me,” snarled the Jedi. “I---”

He shut up abruptly as a blaster bolt cratered his forehead.

The Second Sister’s eyes flashed bright gold as she rounded on TX-1191---but the clone’s blaster was still held at a low ready.

Dhen Martz, smoke curling off the barrel of his sidearm, stepped forward. “We were going to get nothing of value off of him, Inquisitor.”

For a second, it looked as if the next swipe of the Inquisitor’s blade was going to be through Dhen’s midsection, but she was pre-empted by the comm blaring to life.

“Sister, sounds like you’re having some fun without me.”

The Second Sister’s scowl deepened. “There will be plenty for you soon enough. He has  _ friends _ .”

“Oh I know,” came the other Inquisitor’s response. “I think we’ve found some of them, ourselves. Don’t worry, we’ll mop them up and regroup.”

“Fine.” The Second Sister shut off her comlink and stepped over to Dhen, close enough he could smell the ozone of her ignited lightsaber mixing with the bold scent of her perfume. The Inquisitor’s eyes blazed like golden flame for a brief second---and then like a long-held breath, the inferno relaxed somewhat. Instead the Inquisitor reached out to brush an invisible speck of dust from the lapels of Dhen’s overcoat.

“Not a hair out of place, hm, Captain? Impressive. Now if only you could follow  _ orders _ \---”

The Inquisitor’s grip tightened, yanking him in close and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Defy me again, my dear, and you will not live to regret it.”

And then she released him, striding off with her cape billowing behind her like a storm cloud. Dhen could feel his cheeks burning, covered for it by shoving his sidearm back in its holster. They were going to have to have a talk, about that. Inquisitor she may very well have been, but damned if he was going to act like a damned lackey for her.

“Sir?”

He looked over. 91 and Dekk were looking at him, expressions concerned. “Make sure the spooks get the body, gentlemen. They may yet be able to glean something. First Sergeant, did you hear anything about the others’ contact?”

“Yes Sir. Sounded like they found a few insurgents trying to emplace some IEDs along a skybridge.” 91 hadn’t quite braced to attention, but it was a near-run thing. “No Jedi, though.”

“Mm. Very well. Finish up here and head home, Nine-One. I need to speak to our...illustrious leader.”

Behind 91, Dekk assumed a distinctly sour look. Dhen bristled.

“Is there a problem, _ trooper? _ ”

“Sir!” Dekk blanched. “No Sir, just…you know. Forcies.”

Dhen did, all too well, but the second he as the commanding officer admitted to that was the second morale started tanking. “I  _ don’t _ know, trooper. Dismissed.”

***

The Second Sister had taken no prisoners. The  _ Seventh _ Sister, however, had, and was looming over them like a manka cat surveying particularly juicy prey when the other Inquisitor’s party returned to headquarters. The being strapped to the interrogation table was a Vurk, one of the coal-skinned, hatchet-headed natives of Sembla. When the Second Sister, Dhen, and TX-1191 entered, the man was in the middle of some incoherent screaming, courtesy of the IT-O interrogator droid hovering next to him.

Dhen arched an eyebrow. The Grand Army of the Republic had never been much for torture, but that had been more a function of their adversaries primarily being robotic rather than organic. The IT-O certainly didn’t seem like it was producing much useful, at the moment. 

“Stimulating conversation, I see,” said Dhen, clasping his hands behind his back. “Very enlightening.”

“Not one for interrogations, Captain?” came the retort from the green-skinned Inquisitor, still grinning. “Weak constitution?”

“Merely not seeing any rewards gleaned for expenditure of effort.” Dhen tilted his head at the Vurk’s simple street attire. “...not a Jedi, I take it.”

“No, though  _ he  _ was a decidedly fun fight. This one is stronger-willed than I’d expected, though…” The Seventh Sister regarded the Second. “Pity you didn’t take yours alive, Sister. We could’ve learned something.”

“I need to keep my dogs on a tighter leash,” responded the other Inquisitor, waving a hand dismissively. “But their instincts were correct, we’d not have learned anything from that one anyway.”

The Mirialan’s eyes flicked over to regard Dhen, and the Seventh Sister took several steps over to him. Taloned gauntlets came up to caress his cheek. Dhen suppressed a rumbling growl in the back of his throat, struggling to maintain decorum, but it wasn’t the pleasant struggle the Second Sister lent him. The Seventh’s touch was...cold. Unsettling. He didn’t like it, and that was somehow plain to her, for she only smiled wider. When she spoke, her words were addressed to the other Inquisitor in the room. “Oh yes, no doubt. But you can train them well. Have some fun with our new friend, Sister, I need to see where my brother’s gone off to.”

“Gladly,” drawled the other.

The Seventh Sister patted Dhen on the cheek and strutted out of the room. When he looked back over to the remaining Inquisitor, it was all he could do to not start. There was a cold fury on the Second Sister’s features, gold eyes ablaze as she glared in the direction of her departed peer.

TX-1191’s eyes flicked from Dhen to the Inquisitor, and the clone coughed before indicating the now-unconscious Vurk. “Ah---reckon he’s not going to offer us very much for now, Inquisitor. IT-Os do a number on you.”

“Hm?” The fire faded from the Second Sister’s eyes, and she returned her attention to TX-1191. “Ah. Don’t be so sure, First Sergeant. Your man...Five-One-Four, was it? Best go see to him, I think. Actions with Jedi are never easy.”

91 frowned. “He’s fine, Inquisitor, we’re both---”

“First Sergeant.”

91’s eyes snapped over to Dhen, and the clone braced just a little more than his usual ramrod posture. “Sir.”

“Dismiss.” Dhen’s voice was quiet, but firm as he could make it. It wasn’t easy. He could still feel the Seventh Sister’s talons on his cheek. “ _ Now _ .”

The veteran didn’t so much as blink. TX-1191 left-faced and took his leave. As soon as the door shut behind him, the Second Sister was sweeping over to Dhen to take his chin in her hand, golden gaze searching as if to determine what the other Inquisitor had left behind.

“Did she hurt you?” murmured the Second, gently stroking Dhen’s cheek. “I didn’t sense anything.”

This was wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Despite every fiber of his being screaming for him to make the most of the touch, Dhen forced himself to remain at ramrod attention. “No, Inquisitor. Merely felt...wrong.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The Second Sister’s touch strayed upwards, to his shaven temples, almost making to inspect the thick shock of her hair tucked under his service cap...but just stopped short. Her gold eyes were alight once more, but this time it was at Dhen’s struggle to maintain discipline, the soft little hisses and choked back sounds, the shivers that were all the only signs he dared give of the effect she was having on him.

She released him, and for a second Dhen was on the verge of stepping forward to beg her to take hold of him again. But training won out, and he stood there, half-expectantly, as if awaiting further orders.

The Inquisitor tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “...if the Seventh Sister does that to you again, you let me know.”

“And, Inquisitor?”

She smiled. It was that of a wolf sighting prey. “And then, my dear Captain, I shall be obliged to demonstrate that the Inquisitorious can police our own far better than outsiders can.”

He swallowed, letting the meaning of that wash over him, considered the question she had asked this morning. After the Clone Wars he had never told a soul, but after this…

“I---Inquisitor---”

“Hm?” she tilted her head, expectantly.

“...my father was lost during the Clone Wars.” Dhen’s jaw worked for a second. “The Jedi assigned to his ship told me not to worry, that they would protect my father. They lied.”

The Second Sister tilted her head, regarded him for a second. Dhen swallowed, unsure what to make of the inscrutable expression on her face.

“Trilla,” said the Second Sister, and turned to leave.

Dhen blinked, turned round as she swept over to the doorway. “Pardon?”

“You asked my name,” said the Inquisitor, and was gone.


	4. Crystalline Complications

_Circarpous City, Mimban_

_15 Years before the Battle of Yavin_

The TIE Reaper’s troop bay was alive with music.

It wasn’t what Dhen Martz had expected: the Grand Army had been fond of Mandalorian culture, courtesy of their genetic donor, raised on _Vode An_ as their marching song and learning a basic overview of their T-visored heritage. That fondness had been sapped by developments on the battlefield as the Mandalorian Protectors had entered Separatist service, yet the old warrior chants had persisted.

But the purge troopers hadn’t been part of the Grand Army. Instead it was a skull-vibrating glimmik beat reverberating through the crash chairs, the helmetless troopers nodding their red-tattooed visages in eerie unison. Next to Dhen, TX-1191 had the look of a tolerant father trying to enjoy an unfamiliar genre for the sake of his children, but even the First Sergeant was drumming his fingers to the beat.

On Dhen’s other side, the Second Sister was an unmoving black-armored monolith. But every now and again her leg brushed up against his, and Dhen couldn’t help but flick his eyes over to her as he remembered the secret he’d been entrusted with.

 _Trilla_.

But if she noticed his occasional movements, Trilla wasn’t showing it.

Dhen took a second to review his datapad again, checking to see if the Intelligence boffins had issued any updates since the shuttle had taken off.

They hadn’t, of course. Strange activity was still being recorded at a warehouse district on the edge of the city, but there had been no overt signs of affiliation with the Jedi’s group. Nor signs of any Jedi either.

That last worried Dhen. They had killed the Twi’lek, captured the Vurk. That was already one more Jedi than they had expected, and there was no telling how many more were lying in wait to ruin the Empire’s mining operations here. To an ordinary being, a Jedi sans lightsaber was just another sentient...and even three Inquisitors on-planet wasn’t nearly enough to check every suspicious individual.

Next to Dhen, Trilla suddenly stirred, helmet tilting as if listening to something unheard. “Ah, excellent. Our colleagues from the local garrison have seen fit to do their jobs for a change, Captain, the area has been completely cordoned off.”

“Excellent,” said Dhen. “Any hostilities?”

“None as of yet, my dear Captain, but I may be able to take your leash off soon enough all the same.” The Inquisitor looked down to where 91 was sitting. “First Sergeant, we’re coming up on the objective.”

“514, turn that racket off!” 91 briefly looked relieved at the implicit order to cut the music. “Buckets on, people!”

TX-514, Dekk, mock-groaned at the order but shut off the music all the same. Around the troop bay was the familiar hiss of helmets being donned and enviro-seals securing. 

Dhen had no such equipment to tend to, so instead he settled for getting to his feet and securing his coat over his armored chestplate and checking his sidearm. He hadn’t expected to be wearing the coat as much this far from the trenchline but even bathed in sun the capital was still far colder than it had any right to be.

There was no sense asking the troopers for a backbrief. The Kaminoans didn’t breed idiots, and even if the purge troopers hadn’t received the same training as the old GAR, Dhen knew 91 would hold them to the same standards.

So instead Dhen looked over to his long time top kick and nodded. “Alright, First Sergeant. Stand to.”

“Sir.” TX-1191 undid his restraints and grabbed his rifle from where it had been secured to the wall as he got to his feet. There was a click as the First Sergeant’s helmet speakers went dead, but he must have issued an order over the troopers’ private freqs, because the rest of the shuttle bay’s occupants followed suit and formed up into a double column behind Dhen.

All save one, of course. The Second Sister had almost languidly stood up and sauntered over to take up a position next to Dhen, on his right---where, per military regulation, the more senior individual was to walk. As she no doubt knew. 

“Ready to go hunting, Captain?” she asked.

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Dhen glanced over to her. Trilla’s helmeted head hadn’t so much as turned a whit, but he could feel her attention on him almost physically. 

“Good. So am I.” 

Something brushed over Dhen’s hand at that, whispering over the leatheris palm of his glove. It was the same sensation as if someone’s fingers were gently caressing him. His eyes widened and he huffed out a brief breath through his nose, ignoring the heat blooming on his cheeks. Once more his gaze flicked over to Trilla, almost accusingly....but the Second Sister was still standing with her hands at her sides, staring at the troop bay door.

Dhen hissed out another breath, doing his best to dispel the memory of the sensation.

_On edge, dear? Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance to burn off some steam, soon enough._

The voice sounded in his head, its owner unmistakeable. But before Dhen could ask Trilla just what she meant by _that_ , there was a hiss of hydraulics, and the TIE Reaper’s boarding ramp was descending.

The complex beyond was a hive of activity: bathed in floodlights, ringed by stormtroopers in gleaming white armor. Here and there an Imperial troop transport’s boxy form hovered on silent overwatch, forward turrets pointed into the compound, and squads of troopers marched from position to position. After the scare with the Jedi, it was clear the capital’s garrison wasn’t taking any chances, but it all struck Dhen as being more vulgar theatrics than truly tactically sound.

His suspicions were confirmed as he spied two figures approaching the Reaper. One he didn’t recognize, a massive grey-skinned brute of an alien with a wide-brimmed helmet and black armor of a similar cut to the Second Sister’s.

The other was a rapier-thin man in grey uniform and officer’s armor free of any blemishes---or indeed anything that would indicate practical use. His helmet was tucked under one arm to reveal immaculately styled black hair, and a pencil thin mustache bristled under his nose. Dhen wasn’t entirely sure what the planetary governor was doing on a raid, but it boded poorly.

The Second Sister descended the ramp with Dhen and 91 in tow as Governor Jacquier swept over, bowing elaborately. “Inquisitor, I thank you and your task force for arriving on such short notice. Your colleague and I were just ensuring the outer and inner cordons were established.”

“Indeed.” Trilla’s helmet inclined, but it wasn’t the Governor she was looking at. “Hello, brother, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

The other Inquisitor smiled, revealing rows of razor-like teeth. “Indeed? We determined that since we’ve already found more Jedi than expected on this world, it may be best to have more than one of us oversee the operation.”

A brief burst of static, possibly a laugh, emanated from the Second Sister’s helmet. “I hardly think that necessary, Fifth Brother, but if your presence makes you feel as if you are contributing, so be it.”

Dhen arched an eyebrow, looking over to where TX-1191 stood next to him. But if the old soldier had any opinion on Inquisitorial infighting, he wasn’t making any of it apparent. So much for commiserating amongst leadership. “First Sergeant?”

91 inclined his helmet slightly. “Sir.”

“Relay to platoon leadership, if you please: they’re to link up with stormtrooper squads before commencing their searches. I won’t have our lads going in there alone.”

The helmet inclined again, this time with a faintly approving air, and TX-1191 was silent once more---to the outside. No doubt he was already relaying orders over the helmet comms. Behind the command group there was the clank of armored footsteps, and the purge trooper platoon was moving, splitting off neatly into four files as they moved to their assigned entry points into the compound.

Governor Jacquier was watching them warily. “Now---see here, Captain, my fellows were told they would only be pulling outer security on this operation.”

Dhen looked over to the other man, doing his best to keep the disdain out of his voice. “Your ‘fellows’ are stormtroopers, are they not? Taking down rebels is what they trained for. _Sir_.”

The Second Sister chuckled again. “Forgive my Captain’s impertinence, Governor, but he is not wrong. You’ll let me know if any of your soldiers are hesitant about assisting mine.”

Jacquier’s mustache twitched again, but he nodded. “Yes, of course. If you two will pardon me.”

Both Inquisitors made dismissive gestures, and the Governor all but scurried off.

The new Inquisitor, the Fifth Brother, watched him go with a disdainful growl. “Worm of a man. But he has his uses.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The good cheer had all but fled Trilla’s voice. “Thank you for getting everything in place, brother. But I can handle matters from here.”

“I think,” snarled the other, “you had better take all the help you can get. Sister.”

Trilla was motionless for a second, but Dhen could see her shoulders hunch ever so slightly before the tension dissipated. “...try not to get in my way. Captain, with me.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Dhen glanced over his shoulder. “First Sergeant, get a fireteam and---”

“And?” There was the faintest hint of self-satisfaction in 91’s voice. The requested purge troopers were already standing by behind him, formed up in a fireteam wedge.

Dhen couldn’t help but smile. “Efficient as always, Nine-One. Come along.”

Dhen and the troopers had to break into a brief trot to keep up with the Second Sister’s brisk pace. The outer cordon of troopers didn’t even bother to hide that they were watching as they swept past, but the more hardened squads accompanying the other purge troopers into the warehouse were moving far more efficiently. The black-armored troopers would split off, one or two accompanying each stormtrooper squad as unit by unit they stacked, breached, and began to clear the buildings.

The Second Sister was striding through the streets, utterly uncaring about how obvious a target she was making herself. Dhen and 91’s team had their rifles ready, checking each window even as they moved past breach teams filing into target buildings. The Inquisitor didn’t seem to have a specific objective in mind, turning here and there down side streets, alleyways, main thoroughfares like a tracking strill following a scent.

Search teams were emerging from their target buildings, now, and they weren’t alone. Protesting workers, droids, anomalous shipments were all being bought out with them...but so far, there had been no fighting reported over the comlink. And no Jedi either.

Dhen looked over to 91 stolidly marching along beside him. “First Sergeant, anything on your unit-level freqs?”

“No Sir.” The clone hesitated, then continued. “...Sir, I don’t like this. We’ve got no positively ID’d captives, no confirmed contraband seized. If the Governor bought us out here as a show of force, we’ve left other areas vulnerable.”

“On the contrary, First Sergeant,” interrupted the Second Sister. “Our quarry is simply waiting for us to decide we’ve done our part and go home, courtesy of the Governor’s mediocre forces.”

Dhen frowned. “Inquisitor?”

“Do you see that building ahead, Captain?”

Both clone and captain peered down the street---there was indeed a facility up ahead, an ore refinery, for once not belching thick black smoke from its efforts. There was no cordon, no search, taking place. Either the building hadn’t been tagged, or…

...peering closer, Dhen saw a hulking figure in black armor approaching the entrance: the Fifth Brother.

“So. He’s the bait?”

The Second Sister emitted a faint chuckle. “He always did enjoy being the first into the fray. But there is something in there all but _shrieking_ at the both of us. And I for one intend to find out what.”

“Very good. First Sergeant, withdraw all squads, have them converge on the target facility. It won’t be long---”

“It will be _now_ , in fact,” said the Second Sister.

Up ahead, the Fifth Brother had ignited his twin red blades, and not without a certain ostentation he began carving open the blast doors.

As he did so, glass shattered from the windows above, and a squad’s worth of light repeating blasters chattered to life.

“Take cover!” roared 91, ducking into cover in an alleyway. “Try to suppress!”

“They’ve range on us, First Sarn’t!” came the voice of TX-514---Dekk had been taken along for the ride with 91’s fireteam. “We need someone to draw fire off us so we can snipe ‘em!”

Dhen, however, had slightly different concerns. “Inquisitor, take cover if you please, they’ve got a fatal funnel---”

But the Second Sister was instead charging ahead with blinding speed, far faster than any mere human should have been capable of. It had to be something to do with the Force, but between her hurtling forward and her ignited lightsaber, she was drawing the bulk of fire off of Dhen’s team.

Dammit. She was going to get herself killed, powers or not.

_And give the Fifth Brother the satisfaction? Never, my dear Captain._

At the comforting words in his thoughts Dhen blinked, laughed, and turned to his soldiers. “The Inquisitor’s drawing their fire, First Sergeant. Sort that lot out, if you’d be so kind?”

“Sir.” 91 and the others were already opening up with precision fire, and one by one the repeating blaster emplacements fell silent.

Dhen’s comm was crackling to life with another clone’s voice: “First and Second Squads, coming up to your rear now. Recommend you push forward Sir! We got you covered!”

“Thank you, trooper.” Dhen looked over to 91. “First Sergeant, move out. At the double.”

The purge troopers were already breaking cover to advance, and as Dhen followed suit he could see their fellows from the remainder of the platoon joining in the advance, bounding in good order from cover to cover as they advanced on the refinery.

“This is going to be a bloody nightmare,” growled TX-1191, easily keeping pace with Dhen despite his advanced biological age. “Fatal funnels and blind corners for days.”

“If it was just us, I’d agree,” said Dhen. “But don’t forget who’s leading the way.”

91 gave a contemplative grunt. “Sir.”

They were at the entrance to the refinery now, and as 91 and Dhen stacked on the door with Dekk’s fireteam in tow, the unmistakable sounds of lightsabers slashing sounded from within. And so too did screams.

Dekk shook his head. “You reckon she needs us in there, Sir?”

Dhen considered. “...not all of us. First Sergeant, have the platoon establish a cordon. One-Four, your lot will come in with us.”

“Very good Sir.”

“Roger that, Sir!”

Dhen peered round into the doorway, half-expecting to immediately have to duck back out---and the other half was what he got. Bodies, carved up by a lightsaber, littered the floor, and still-glowing slashes marked the walls, ceiling, and floor. He raised a hand, motioning for the troopers to follow, and pied the corner into the refinery.

There was no resistance as they made their way through the hallways, just more bodies. By unspoken agreement, they followed the sounds of lightsabers, blasterfire, and screams. Once the job hadn’t been left completely done, and an insurgent with more life in them than the rest had tried to blast TX-514 with their last breath.

Phase II clone armor was made of sturdier stuff than the newer stormtrooper kit, and Dekk’s chestplate had easily taken the hit. He’d gotten to his feet, wheezing to regain the breath knocked out of him.

Dhen, meanwhile, was standing over the insurgent. They were a mimbanese, orange skin now pallid, round black eyes glassy. They weren’t dead, but it was a close thing. “Can you understand me, old boy?”

“Go..to…”

“Yes, and I imagine I’ll see you there soon enough.” The Captain sighed; Force forbid any of these scum died without some last dramatic statement. “In the meantime, care to shed some light on what your friends were doing here?”

But the Mimbanese simply emitted a death rattle and expired.

“Pity,” remarked Dhen. “One-Four, are you alright?”

Dekk let out a cough, but his breathing was just about normal. “Yes Sir.”

91 was watching the proceedings, red-tinted lenses about as dispassionate as the cold eyes behind them. “We’re coming up on the control room, Sir. Best get moving.”

“Right you are, First Sergeant. Come along.”

But the interlude with the dying Mimbanese was the only interruption their advance met. When they entered the yawning expanse of the refinery’s control room, they found the two Inquisitors practically atop a pile of bodies that stopped just short of being metaphorical, next to a simple shipping container. The Fifth Brother was snarling.

“---we don’t figure out where this came from before we report this, we’re finished.”

“On the contrary,” said the Second Sister, “a development such as this needs to be reported sooner rather than later. Bad news, unlike fine wine, does not get better with age. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear Captain?”

“Quite so,” said Dhen, shoving his pistol into its holster as he moved to post up next to Trilla. Behind him he was aware of 91’s troopers moving to secure the area, but right now his eyes were on the new Inquisitor. “I take it there’s been a development?”

“Do you know what they mine here, Captain?” growled the Fifth Brother.

Dhen frowned, glancing over to Trilla. “Hyperbarides, yes?”

“Indeed,” said the Second Sister. “Which most certainly is _not_ what is in that container. Open it.”

It wasn’t exactly the command he had been expected, but Dhen advanced to the crate and opened the seals---and immediately let out a surprised breath. Within were crystals with an almost blue, lustrous sheen to them. A faint warmth seemed to resonate from them, and Dhen had to stop himself from reaching out to touch them. He stood up and turned to regard the Inquisitors.

“...Kyber crystals?”

“Indeed.”

Dhen Martz looked down into the crate and remarked, “shit.”

***

In the dimly lit operations room of the Inquisitorious’ headquarters in Circarpous City, the Second Sister, Fifth Brother, and Seventh Sister made their report. They were addressing a blue figure emanating from the holotable, while Dhen and TX-1191 lurked off to the side, out of the hologram’s field of vision. Neither had been specifically requested to attend, but nor too had they been explicitly told to leave the Inquisitors to converse amongst themselves.

“The situation on Mimban is more serious than we anticipated,” said the Second Sister. “In addition to more Jedi than we had been informed were present, the insurgents have also uncovered a source of Kyber crystals, likely within the disputed wilderness zone.”

The being she addressed was a needle-toothed Pau’an with leathery skin, one who spoke and carried himself like one of the core worlds gentry. “Thank you for contacting me, Second Sister, I do agree that this is a decidedly unfortunate development. Have you made any further inroads into dismantling their network?”

For once, Trilla looked less than in control of the situation, and next to her a decidedly nasty smirk was tugging at the Seventh Sister’s green-hued features. “They have already lost two of their Jedi leaders, Grand Inquisitor, there can be few more left. And with the Kyber crystals coming from the disputed wilderness zone, we can leverage the 224th’s assets to strike at their mining operation.”

The Grand Inquisitor smiled sardonically. “In other words, killing when and where you can. A kill count means nothing if it does not advance the wider goal. But you have been doing your best to prosecute some modicum of strategy, rather than chasing thrills...or trying to sate your own bloodlust.”

The Seventh Sister’s smirk vanished, and the Fifth Brother flinched as the Grand Inquisitor regarded them in turn.

Dhen swallowed. He had heard rumors of how Lord Vader would strangle those who displeased him on a holocall. The Grand Inquisitor seemed more restrained in comparison, but…

Trilla’s helmeted head dipped deferentially. “What is your command, Grand Inquisitor?”

“Focus on gathering leads for now,” came the unhesitating reply. “And send me an organogram of their cells, with the names and roles you have been able to identify. I’d like to know just who you _have_ taken out of the picture.”

“As you wish.”

“Furthermore, you will prepare for my arrival in Circarpous City.” The Grand Inquisitor's smile widened. “I will be taking control of the operation personally.”

The Seventh Sister came to life at that, barely trying to hide her dismay. “Grand Inquisitor, that won’t be necessary, we---”

“Have failed to make solid headway in the operation, but moreover have revealed just how critical our success here is.” The Pau’an arched his brow. “Or have you forgotten the importance of Kyber crystals to Project Stardust?”

The Seventh Sister shut up.

“Precisely. I will be bringing purge trooper reinforcements as well, the first wave of new recruits on Nur has just graduated. These ones have been specially trained to go toe-to-toe with Jedi, which I imagine may prove necessary given precedent and the...lack of variety in our clones’ repertoire.”

Dhen couldn’t help but glance at TX-1191 at that. But if the veteran took offense to that statement, he wasn’t showing it. 

Not physically, at least, but all three Inquisitors looked over to where he and Dhen were standing, as if something had all but shouted in the Force.

The Second Sister looked back to the Grand Inquisitor. “As you wish.”

“Excellent. Oh, and _do_ be so kind as to keep some of that Abrax cognac waiting, if you please, Second Sister. Your tastes in liquor are far to my liking than some of our more...brutish colleagues.” The Grand Inquisitor smirked. “Carry on. I should be in-system within the week.”

The hologram faded from existence, and the lights once more assumed a normal level.

“It’s going to look like Fortress Inqusitiorius here,.” said the Seventh Sister, expression markedly annoyed. “How soon until the real dead weight like Nine or Ten are bought out?”

“That will do.” Trilla turned to regard the other two Inquisitors. “Go lay onto our friends in Intelligence, have them compile and send the information the Grand Inquisitor requested.”

The Seventh Sister gave a petulant sniff, and the Fifth Brother growled...but the two turned to make their exit. Unfortunately, Dhen and 91 were in their path.

“Enjoying your peek behind the curtain?” crooned the Seventh Sister, moving to brush some lint off of Dhen’s shoulder. “Most officers never get to see so many of us at once. And almost never any _clones_.”

“I’d ask you to keep your hands off me, Inquisitor,” Dhen growled, far less keen on being touched by the mirialan than he was Trilla. He didn’t bother trying to hide his revulsion. “The experience is proving _educational_. TX-1191 and I both are learning what right and wrong looks like, in these matters.”

“Careful, Captain.” The Seventh Sister’s taloned gauntlet shifted upwards to trace a line up his throat, coming to settle on the jugular. “Not all of us are as accepting of back talk as my sister.”

“Enough.” Trilla’s voice cracked forth like a whip as she strode over. “Sister, leave us.”

The Mirialan flashed Dhen a gleeful smirk. “I’ll see you soon, pretty boy.”

Dhen's fists clenched and his cheeks burned hot. But he made no move as the other two made their exit.

The Second Sister looked from Dhen to TX-1191. “Clone.”

91 stiffened. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Will the arrival of these natural-born soldiers be a problem for you and your men.”

The reply was hesitant. “...we all knew it was coming. After the Kamino uprising, and working with the regular Army. But I’ve heard from my brothers that they never really got used to the new guys.”

“Will that impede operational effectiveness?”

Another hesitation, but 91 shook his head. “No, Inquisitor.”

“Good. Dismiss. I would speak with your Captain alone.”

91’s red-shrouded gaze briefly turned to regard Dhen. The old clone was no fool, and when your comrades all looked the same you learned to pick up plenty via body language and other subtleties. And Dhen and the Second Sister hadn’t been subtle.

But if TX-1191 had any issues with his commander’s conduct, he was still keeping them very close to his chest. He bowed his head to Trilla, about-faced, and exited the briefing room.

The Second Sister looked to Dhen. “Have you any concerns about their arrival?”

Dhen shook his head. “Whatever personal concerns 91 and the clones may have, they’ll do their duty.”

“Good. By the by, I still have enough of that cognac for a glass or two before the Grand Inquisitor arrives...”

“I...” He hesitated, frowning. “The Seventh Sister, she----”

Trilla reached up to gently take his chin in between thumb and forefinger. “Say the word, my dear Captain. She dances along the razor’s edge, to be sure. But she won’t put a foot over. Not unless you tell me she has.”

Dhen looked down into that red-tinted visor, knowing the golden gaze that blazed forth within. He and Trilla had been dancing along their own razor’s edge as well, and at some point he was going to fall in one direction or another. Whether into each her arms, or onto an ignited saber remained to be seen...but fall he would.

In the meantime, he would enjoy the dance.

“No, Inquisitor. Not yet.”

“Come along, then.” The Second Sister released her hold on him, crooking a finger for him to follow in her wake. “We’ve earned ourselves a drink, I believe.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Dhen couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he fell in behind her. “I dare say we have.”


End file.
